To My Deluded Stalker
by Sarah-not-GQ
Summary: In response to Jareth-GK's infuriating letter erroneously titled "To My Love".


Jareth –

How _exactly_ have I misunderstood your intentions? Was it perhaps with affection that you tossed a live snake in my face? Did you conjure a twirly-bladed death machine as a token of love? Were your intentions pure and true when you drugged me and twirled my befuddled, underaged head around that perverted ballroom of yours? And I'm not even going to mention the baby-napping incident, because we've rehashed that argument so many times I practically have it memorized.

Here's a little tidbit I bet you didn't know, Goblin King – _none_ of those things, regardless of your 'misunderstood intentions', made me smile. Not a one. Nothing about you can put a smile on my face – your very name is a mood ruiner. There are so many things about you that irritate the crap out of me that I'd never be able to list them all – but, just to give you an idea, here's a select few:

I hate that you sit outside my window all the time. It's creepy. And because I don't feel like being watched by a pervy little owl all the freaking time, I have to keep the blinds pulled – and all my plants are dying because they aren't getting any sunshine. Go away.

I hate that you insist on giving me such ridiculous crap. A life-size crystal unicorn, Jareth? What am I going to do with that?

I hate that you send your goblins to give me said ridiculous crap. You know very well how destructive they are. And they expect tips too! And _quit giving me that dress_. I know you thought I liked it, I know you thought it was pretty, I know it's now my possession – but I want it gone. When I throw something away, it means I don't want it around. When I throw something away _repeatedly_ and it keeps popping back up, it means I really actually want to burn it. And I would, if I wasn't afraid that magic may be more flammable than normal materials and I'm not overly keen on burning down my house.

I hate that you insist on giving me peach-related stuff. Why do you do this? The peach candles, the peach potpourri, the peach-colored dresses and matching shoes, the comb with the peach flower, _the pancake breakfast with the peach topping -_ are you trying to cancel out the drugged one with better memories? Because it's not working! Every time I'm reminded that peaches exist, I hate them more!

I hate that you follow me around everywhere – and don't think that just because I can't see you, I don't know you're there. My shoulders are in a permanent knot from always being tense. And _no,_ I don't need you to give me a massage – or a masseuse.

I hate the way you say my name. Never before had a name as innocent as 'Sarah' sounded so sleazy. It's practically a sex act in itself – and it's _not_ a turn on. I feel like I need to wash my ears out with soap every time you do that.

I hate that you flirt with other girls to try and make me jealous. News flash, I don't care if you want someone else. Congratu-freaking-lations! But don't flaunt it in front of me because you're trying to get a rise, Jareth. Leading them on like that just proves how callous and arrogant and plain _mean_ you are.

And on that note – leave those poor harem girls alone, Jareth, and pick on someone a little better prepared to deal with your flashy, sparkly lies.

I hate that you refuse to remember Hoggle's name. H-O-G-G-L-E. _Hog-gle._ Not difficult. He's been nothing but loyal to you, despite the fact that you are a greasy, glittery cad and don't deserve it, and you can't even remember his _name?_ That's just pathetic.

I hate that you think your owl form is going to win me over. If I don't like the man, what makes you think I'm going to like the funky-smelling animal that hoots all night any better?

I hate that you call me 'precious' and 'your precious thing' – I am _not_ yours, I am _not_ a thing, and you have no right to say that I am _precious_ to you. And it sounds degrading – like I'm a little kid. "Oooh, look, isn't she so precious?" – No. Stop it. At _least_ come up with a different pet name.

I hate that you are _alwa_y_s_ playing music in my head – for cripe's sake, I am _so sick of that song_. It's not romantic, it's not sweet, and all it does is remind me that you _stole_ _my brother_ and tried to make me forget about him. You'll have to excuse me if I'm not all giddy and swoony at the recollection.

I hate that you have to keep pushing the boundaries – you _know_ you can't come near me, Jareth, so quit trying! I can feel it and it does nothing but make me tense and crabby and I can't focus properly because I'm all freaked out wondering what you're up to. Why can't you just accept that I _won_ and move on? Why can't you just let it go? Are you really that sore of a loser?

And you know what I hate the absolute most? That you insist on proclaiming that you do all of this for _love_. Love is something sacred, Jareth, it is not something you can use as a ploy for revenge, or to help you win the chase, or whatever the hell you seem to think its purpose is. If you _loved_ me, you wouldn't be bugging the living daylights out of me all the time. Give it up, Jareth. You can't have everything you want. You can't have _me._ Just call it a loss and move on.

And take your damned goblins with you.

NOT yours (eternally or irrevocably or even for the weekend)

Sarah


End file.
